Mr Antolini
by Unworthy
Summary: What would have happened, had Holden not rushed out of Mr. Antolini's house after waking up? Male/Male Slash. Rated M for language and sexual situations.


("Author" Note: Ugh. Standardized testing…the only good thing about it is that it gives me the time to read like the little bookworm that I am. And, today, I finished _The Catcher in the Rye_, and loved it. Absolutely adored the thing. I just had one little problem in the back of my mind, sitting there, eating away at my medulla oblongata: What if Holden _hadn't _scurried out of Mr. Antolini's place so quickly?)

Mr. Antolini was just sitting there, petting my head like I was some sort of goddamn puppy. I was too tired to object forcefully, but I sure as hell tried.

"Mr. Antolini…stop…what're you doin'?" I noticed that he was holding his highball glass in his other hand, still, and wondered if he were drunk. "Are you drunk, sir?" Good God. Why'd I go and say that? He was sure to be mad now. I hate making people who otherwise like me get mad at me. It makes me want to puke a little, knowing that I've disappointed them.

My former English teacher put his index finger to my mouth and hushed me. As soon as he took it away, I began asking him more questions.

"Mr. Antolini, why are you doing this?" He still said nothing, just moved his fingers through my crew cut and drew his thumb around the edge of my ear, making me shudder. His hands were cool, but not freezing. His fingers slid down my face and around the back of my neck, pulling me a little closer. And at the same time, he was scooting closer towards me. We got so close that I thought I'd fall off the goddamn couch. I would have, too, but he grabbed my wrists and, in one motion that I was too tired to completely catch, turned me from my side to my back and climbed on top of me.

And the really sick part about all of this was that I could feel the crotch of his pants against my leg, and he was getting seriously sexy about this. What a flit. I grabbed his shoulders, feeling the bones poking out and all, and pushed up, breaking off the contact between my chest and his. He moved my hands aside and stared down at me. I guess that he was expecting me to object, so I did.

"Mr. Antolini, I…I'm no flit." Finally, he said something.

"Nor am I. Shall we continue?" I shook my head, but I couldn't tell if he could see me, what with it being so dark in there and all. I sat up, sorta, but that just put him on my lap. I could see him better now, and his brown eyes were locked in on mine. And then he did the flittiest goddamn thing. The bastard tried to kiss me. I dodged it, of course, and his lips landed on my neck. But he didn't take the hint; instead he just slid his mouth up my neck and breathed all over me with his hot air. His hand was around the back of my head and everything, and I felt his other hand groping around under the blanket at my thigh. His face was right next to mine, and his mouth was almost touching mine. I could smell his whiskey-drenched breath. I shivered as he yanked the blanket off of my legs.

His nails dug into my neck and I tried to yell out, but all that I could muster was a gasp. He took advantage of my mouth being open as hell and thrust his tongue inside, sealing it with his lips on mine. I tried, I really, honestly did try to push him away, but he was on me like ugly on an ape. My right arm –and I swear to God Almighty that this wasn't on purpose- wrapped around his waist and he drew closer to me, gliding his hand in between my legs and making them spread. I opened my eyes and he was looking right at me. Who the hell looks at whoever they're necking? But by the time that that entire thought had made it through my head, he'd already wormed his hand into my shorts.

Now, I've tried to make it entirely clear to you that I am not a goddamn flit, but if someone –anyone, male or female- sticks his or her hand in your shorts and starts pumping you around, what was I supposed to do? I mean, like I said earlier, I was a goddamn virgin. And here Mr. Antolini comes, sticking his hands in his student's shorts and gripping his student's junk with his strong, soft, hand. So bear with me here –I'm not a goddamn flit because of this. It's him who's the flit.

But anyway, Mr. Antolini starts getting into it, and that got me into it, and before I could stop him he's got me moaning and all, begging for more. I swear, that's the one and only time in my life that I've begged, for anything.

Well, being the virgin that I was, I didn't take long to, you know, finish the thing. And Mr. Antolini just lets go of my head and sits back afterwards like I'm the one who did all the work.

And then –you won't believe this- he just gets up and goes upstairs, like nothing ever happened! And he stops at the top of the staircase and says at me, he says, "Good night, Holden. See you in the morning." Just like he didn't just do what he did. Goddamn phony.

(Review, please? I know that this is an…ill-advised fan fiction. I apologize.)


End file.
